


like every neural bridge, this is a two way street

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Biting, Father/Son Incest, M/M, pacific rim kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are not quite a secret in Sydney’s Shatterdome. But underneath the grey shirts and the drivesuits, he marks him in black and blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like every neural bridge, this is a two way street

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: [Herc/Chuck, biting](http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/1613.html?thread=2377037#t2377037). _They love to cover each other in bite marks. They're not even rough about it, they're just really possessive and want to mark each other up. And as pale as they both are, it probably doesn't even take much for them to bruise. Bonus if someone else notices (in the gym maybe) how their necks and arms and chests are covered with hickeys. Cue dirty comments and lewd questions about who the lucky girl/guy is._

If Chuck ends up spending every night across the hall and in his father’s room, especially on nights when his father isn’t even in Australia, well, nobody is going to be the one to point that out. Not when they have the whole of the East Coast resting over their shoulders.

They are not quite a secret in Sydney’s Shatterdome the same way they aren’t quiet. But neither are they loud, like these things never are.

The Hansens don’t share a room, but they might as well.

 

“You’re turning purple.”

Chuck’s smirk stretches over his kiss-bruised lips, and it is equal parts mutual understanding when he glances up at him through his lashes with a bone deep longing, mouth pressing another kiss over the settling bite mark over his father’s chest.

They aren't rough, but neither one of them knows how to be gentle either, especially when they are on the bed, sheets a tangle at their hips, Max nowhere to be found. (Because their dog is their only buffer and without Max, the Hansens don't know how to be anything but hands on and possessive.)

“Cut it out, kid.” Herc tries to pull away but Chuck only grips him that much harder, fingertips digging into the familiar curves of his old man’s bones. It’s a fit that has them wearing out their rough edges amongst themselves, and it hurts just as much as it works.

“Make me.” And it is a murmur made against his heart.

Herc pushes a knee between Chuck’s legs in warning, listens to him groan softly against another bruise over his collarbones. “I’ve got a meeting in Anchorage in two days, do not take it above the collar.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, dad.”

They leave things unsaid because there are no secrets in the drift. The silence leaves them bare, and it goes to show that he trusts him implicitly. But Chuck loves that he can do this, say things like these, sounding like he doesn’t mean it when they both know that it is anything but.

They rock into one another, trailing bites like kisses, and map the skin beneath their hands and lips with teeth. They never do anything halfway, they don’t know how to.

So when Herc drags Chuck up, he revels in the way his body moves against his own. It’s not a fight but a push and pull that has Herc sinking his teeth into the junction where Chuck’s neck meets his shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin, just enough to leave a mark that won’t be fading until he comes back.

It is a version of a promise they don’t know how to say.

And it is exactly everything they need when he spills over his hands with a soft pant and a softer sigh of his name on his lips.

 

In the morning, right before Herc’s flight, the Hansens will sit across each other at the mess hall table. They will sit there like the curve of Chuck’s shoulder doesn’t throb and Herc isn’t covered in lip shaped bruises all across his chest.

They can feel it like a mutual claim on days when even the imprint of his mind in his isn’t enough.

 

 

Bonus:

Anchorage is the same old Ice Box he remembers it to be. The Rangers’ bedrooms are still sparse, and the doors are still so damn quiet when they swing open from the outside. Herc has just come out of the shower when Tendo walks in, a PPDC issued tablet in one hand.

“I knocked but—” Tendo starts and stops to raise a brow at the state of Hercules Hansen’s chest, the towel around his neck doing little to hide the varying shades of bites and bruises. “…Either you’re not as vanilla as I thought you were, or your dog _attacked_ you quite viciously.”

Herc doesn’t flush, but it’s a very close thing as he reaches for a grey t-shirt from the bottom bunk. In the back of his head, he is already cursing Chuck all the way to hell and back. Instead, Herc offers, resignation in the way he doesn’t even bother to tug the collar of the t-shirt to hide the one love bite made at his neck. “…Yeah, something like that.”

Tendo nods, shock evaporating in place of pure unadulterated amusement at his friend. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

XXX Kuro


End file.
